Lace and Leather
by RobinRocks
Summary: Sequel to RobinxRaven oneshot Underneath Your Clothes. The morning after they share the most intimate and beautiful of bonds, it would appear that there are still more secrets left unspoken between the birds… Set post Haunted. Two chapters. RobinxRaven
1. Part I: Lace

This is a special something I scribbled for everyone who read and/or reviewed the repost of _Underneath Your Clothes_. It has not been as successful the second time around – well, yeah, twenty reviews was a _lot_ – but it has done well nonetheless and I therefore offer a **HUGE** thankyou to everyone who helped make up those numbers. It means a lot to me that people were kind enough to read/review it again; it was my most popular one-shot **EVER** (and in such a short space of time – _Who Killed Cock Robin?_ has taken about 6 months to get 18 reviews) and I was _gutted_ when it got pulled down by the site admins.

_Sooo_… in order to thank all those lovely people who read and reviewed it (and even just those of you who read and had nothing to say; thankyou all the same!) I have taken to heart the request from **A Raven's Last Song** – to write a sequel to the strangely-popular (I have never quite figured out _why_ everybody likes it so much) _Underneath Your Clothes_. So now I offer _Lace and Leather_ – a two-part "continuation" of _Underneath Your Clothes_. Think of this quite literally as the "morning after". Part I – _Lace_ – will be, as was _Underneath Your Clothes_, from Raven's P.O.V.

Part II – _Leather_ – will be some fun screwing with _Robin's_ head. Yes, indeedy! Robin's P.O.V! I have only done it once before – for the Cyborg-centric one-shot _Flaws_ – and people seemed to think it came out okay, so yay for you! You get to witness my second go around at Robin's P.O.V! Oh, and… this fic is **_not_** about masochism, etc. I know that the title is suggestive of such things…

But all that later. For now, can I just say a big thankyou to all reviewers of _Underneath Your Clothes: The Repost_; Daybreak25 (**BIG** thankyou – you reviewed it _again!_); FredTheBedHead; Novemberscorpion110388; BrokenSoul0917; Simply Myself; Calamol; Baby-Ice; RavensLair; Creative Spark; Rgfawkes; and of course, A Raven's Last Song, who requested this. ALSO, to additional people who put it on their Favorites List: HowlAtTheMoon2Night; Immoral Burnings; GMastr56; Frost Mage; Snowyshadowwolf; and AvatarAsha. Big thankyou also to my co-writer Narroch06, who always kindly reviews _everything_…

This is for you guys.

This is set in the aftermath of _Haunted_, remember.

And if you haven't read _Underneath Your Clothes_ (it's only a one-shot)… you don't _have_ to. But _this_ won't really make any sense if you don't.

Lace and Leather

Part I: Lace_ – Raven_

It's dark.

It's the first thing I realize as I open my eyes. That it's dark. Which actually isn't very observant of me.

Because it's _always_ dark in my room.

I center myself, still lying there, and engage my telekinesis; lighting the candle at my bedside without even having to move. My mind does it all for me.

I lie there unremittingly; still not fully awake, I will admit. I cannot even remember getting into bed last night. It is difficult to gather my bearings, even now. I am not too sure of the time; my senses tell me that it is still early. It is quiet; if it were late morning, there would be the "joyful" sound of Beast Boy and Cyborg pounding up and down the corridors as what I suppose you _might_ refer to as a "wake-up call".

It's nice. Dark. Quiet. I'm alone with my thoughts; and warm and comfortable into the bargain. Just how I like it.

_And then I feel the movement beside me_.

My heart lurches in my chest unpleasantly. I suddenly feel like being sick; although it quickly subsides.

I am _certainly_ wide awake now.

I turn my head sharply to my right and—

_Ohmygod_… Robin. In my bed. Under my covers. _Next_ to me. _Asleep_.

I stare at him, speechless. How on _Earth_ did he…?

I remember. It hits me like…

…that time Beast Boy smacked me across the back of the head whirling one of his sneakers over his head by the laces. He didn't mean it – and he paid dearly for it – but it still hurt my brain.

As does _this_.

Did _I_…? And did _he_…?

Meditation. I only brought him in here to meditate. He was afraid and wanted company.

I worry that I gave him rather too _much_ company.

Yes, I do remember now. We were meditating together and then… just…

We kissed.

I don't remember why it happened; or how. I am not even sure who instigated it. But it _happened_.

It happened; and so did a whole lot of _other_ things. I had not thought rationally; it had just _happened_.

And it was…

…_beautiful_.

_He_ was beautiful. He truly was. All those bruises… his hallucinations were not kind to him. I kissed every one of them. I did not kiss them _better_; I _could_ have. I could heal him. He won't let me, though. He seems to _want_ to be in pain; he _wants_ to suffer. But they were everywhere; on his arms and legs and chest and face… I kissed them all, every last one, and he seemed to like that.

He doesn't want me to _heal_ him; but he _does_ want me to _care_. Maybe those kisses _did_ make them feel better.

And I can remember now; it had been clumsy. He had been so _nervous_; I remember feeling his hands shaking. I suppose I got the easy role; the lady tied to her manners. I let him do everything, in all truth. And he was scared, and he didn't get everything right. He couldn't decide whether he should undress himself or undress _me_ first. He opted for me and I suppose he was doing okay until he got to the bra. The hooks got jammed and he either didn't have the patience to unwork the material or he was embarrassed by his lack of suavity, and he employed a birdarang and _cut_ it.

Which I suppose might have been a turn-on… if it hadn't cost _$39_.

He had apologized so profusely for it that it had almost ruined the mood; incidentally, the only way to get it back was to begin unbuttoning his shirt to get him started. He had then gotten into that with so much haste he had gotten tangled up in all those clingy clothes.

And then, when we were _finally_ ready… he _missed_. So badly, in fact, that I had to guide him into me.

And then pure nature took over and he lost himself to it. As did I.

He was beautiful and I was proud of him. I kissed his mouth; and I kissed his bruises. I remember his skin glowing gold from the candlelight in the room; and I remember it shimmering with sweat. I remember him holding me and I remember the smell of his skin – sweat, that musky boy scent, and honey, for some reason. I remember the taste of him; of his mouth and of his flesh. The scent of his hair; hair gel and that coconut shampoo he uses even though it belongs to Starfire. I remember the pattern of his breathing – quick and heavy – and the sound of every soft little moan.

He was _beautiful_ and I felt a sudden love that I never felt before for _anything_. I wanted to protect him; hold him and kiss his hair and tell him everything would be alright for as long as I did so. And he gave me magic; he gave me secrets; he gave me gifts. He gave me, within that short space of time – and nestled deep within the sweat and heat and pleasurable friction – everything I have ever wanted and needed and _more_.

He gave me love and promise and his trust and he taught me a lesson.

And at the very second in which he spilled into me—

He gave me something I have never felt before.

_Hope_.

I cried into his hair and then he cried a bit too; and I remember falling asleep in his arms, naked, with my head on his thin chest and my legs between his…

But that was last night.

And now, the morning after, I am, for one thing, no longer in his arms.

He is on his stomach, his face turned away from me, so that all I can see is the crown of tousled ebony hair. His slow heavy breathing pattern tells me that he is still fast asleep.

I don't wish to wake him, either.

Will things be forever awkward between us now? Or will they become _easier? _I do not regret what happened between us, but I regret the implications of it. I do not wish for our friendship to become in any way… _tainted_ by the happenings of last night…

He shifts again, giving a sleepy little moan. Rolls over onto his side. _Faces_ me.

Still the same. He might be naked but that mask is still stuck to his face. I remember seeing his mother in that memory; of her, and of his father, falling to their deaths. I saw other things, too. Tiny flashbulb images. Of her, and of him.

She was _beautiful_.

And he looks just like her. It is a strange occurrence; his father, yes, had black hair too, but Robin is the spitting image of his mother. Even the _type_ of hair, as well as the color, is the same as hers; silky, shiny and strong. The shape of his face and his skin-tone and his nose… they are all hers. I have said this to myself before but every time I study him now after seeing his mother makes me blink and look at him twice, three times… I know that _I_ look like _my_ mother, but I am female and look _nothing_ like my _father _(_thank Azar…_), so that _does_ make sense. But for Robin to have gotten only the shape of his mouth and the size of his hands and feet from his father, and for everything else to be his mother's… I find him intriguing, to say the least.

I nestle down under the sheets and curl up against him; breathe him in again. He doesn't awaken but that is okay. I don't think I _want_ him awake.

Not yet.

**TT**

I'm not sure how much time has passed now that I open my eyes a second time. I know I was not asleep – if I was _even_ asleep – for very long.

I awaken fully as I realize that Robin is no longer present next to me. I sit up and look around for him, but he is truly gone.

My hand slips under my pillow for the silk nightgown I _usually_ wear for bed; if I do not sleep in my leotard, that is.

And if I do not sleep with _Robin_.

I pull it on over my head, running a hand through my violet hair. It's the nicest one I have; falling to the upper thighs, red shimmering silk with black lace at the cleavage and hem. Tiny spaghetti straps; I was with Starfire when I bought it. She bought one too; bright candy pink, with baby pink lace. I preferred the red and black.

The door suddenly opens and Robin slips through the gap, closing it softly behind him. He must have been to the bathroom, for he has neatened up his hair and straightened his mask. He's wearing his white boxer shorts – I admired the glittery blue electric guitar printed on them last night while he was struggling to haul his cape off over his head – and his crimson "R" motif shirt. The guitar glitters now too, in the soft candlelight. It has tiny glass studs and rhinestones decorating it as well as that stick-on glitter they can print on shirts now. They don't look like the type of thing I would have expected him to wear underneath his neat prim uniform; they seem a little too… flamboyant.

A little too _Elvis_.

Like I said, he's full of surprises.

I bid him good morning, my tone as flat and charmless as ever, and he jumps.

"Hey, Raven…" He flashes me that lopsided grin of his; the one that always looks kind of _guilty_, if you ask me. But I know it's the one he saves for occasions in which he does not know quite where to put himself. He has a whole arsenal of smiles; the nervous one, the sour one, the sarcastic one, the grim one, the happy one (the most devastating), the malicious one, and of course the "know-it-all" one; more commonly known as simply "The Smirk".

Right now I'm getting the nervous one. Or the guilty one. Whatever.

"What time is it?"

"6:30." Robin yawns and scratches his hairline. Comes back to the bed and sits on the edge. "I just checked the clock. Whatever, it's still early…"

He looks at me. His pale cheeks are tinged with the slightest hint of pink as our eyes meet.

He clears his throat and looks away again. I continue to gaze at him. I see the bruises still dark on his arms where they are bare. I see the bruises on his bare legs. There is a near-black one on his lower jaw, which I can see more clearly now that he has turned away. The swelling around his right eye has declined even more since yesterday, although it is still noticeable.

"Robin…"

"_What?_" His tone is moody now, and he doesn't look at me as he speaks.

"It's…" I watch him, trailing off, as he looks down at his lap intently, even though there is nothing to see but the bruises on his legs.

Which I am certain he would rather _not_ see.

"Robin, please look at me…"

He sulkily looks up, shifting his legs anxiously. His cheeks are most definitely flushed pink now.

"Raven… I…" He heaves a sigh; and I know the feeling. I do not really know what to say either.

With an angry jolt I realize that we have potentially ruined our friendship for good; all for one wonderful night.

One wonderful night that is now _over_.

He gazes at me long and hard now. I look back at him, sitting up against the headboard, the sheets at my lap. He opens his mouth—

And then closes it again. His gaze shifts downwards. Irritated, I follow it; and am annoyed when I find that his stare has stopped at my cleavage and hasn't moved.

I am _surprised_ at him, to say the least. _Beast Boy_ I could see following that sort of behavior; but not _Robin_. He was raised, since being orphaned, by a _billionaire_; and so I know that he is well-mannered.

He looks up quickly at the irritated little sound I make. The pink deepens again.

"I'm sorry… I…" He nods at the nightgown. "It's… it's nice…" A very strange expression crosses his face; one halfway between sadness and amusement, and I think there may be part of a smile in there too.

"The lace…" He breathes deeply. "It looks like… the lace on this dress my mom used to have…"

Now _I_ stare at _him_.

Because that is the first time I have _ever_ heard him say _anything_ about his parents. To me, or to anyone.

He's so… _introverted_. At least when it comes to talking about his past. He rarely mentions Batman or his origins as the "Boy Wonder". He _never_ talks about his parents.

We had discussed this. Starfire and Beast Boy and Cyborg and I. _Before_ the events of two days ago. Long ago. Because we always wondered why he never talked about his parents. _I_ speak of Azarath – if not my _whole_ past, for reasons which… do not matter at this present time – and Starfire never _ceases_ to tell of us of the customs of her people. I believe we are almost as well-versed on the ways of Tamaran as _she_ is by now.

And we have _been_ there, of course.

Cyborg doesn't say _too_ much, but sometimes mentions his life as a champion athlete. We _know_ Beast Boy came from the Doom Patrol, although his retrospections are lacking detail.

But Robin? Nada. Not a word. If we did not _know_ for a fact that he was once Batman's partner – because who _hasn't_ heard of Batman and Robin? – we would most likely know _nothing_ about him at all. Because he would most certainly not tell us himself.

And his parents? We discussed this. We came to the conclusion that he had probably been orphaned, and that it had not been recent incident. From the legal documents on the database – and through a little research on my part – we _know_ his name is Richard John Grayson, and we know that he is legally billionaire Bruce Wayne's ward; even though he no longer lives with him. We also found out that yes, his parents had died in an accident eight years previous.

There was no detail of the accident.

But of all that we know… he did not tell us a _word_ of it himself.

I _know_ now. I saw it in his head two nights ago. Saw what _he_ saw. His mother and father falling to their deaths from a circus trapeze. Saw them screaming—

It was a quick image. I didn't see them hit the floor. I know that _he_ did.

And he doesn't ever talk of it. He never says "My mom did this…" or "My dad used to do that…". He keeps it all locked up in that wild mind of his; and he keeps it all to _himself_. Maybe it hurts less.

But _I_ have seen.

There are places in my mind that no-one should _ever_ go. And there are those same places in _his_. But _I_ have been there, and I have _seen_. I should _not_ have seen, but I have.

And I _know_.

He has been within _me_ in a far more physical way. He may be the only one to ever do so. I trusted him enough to allow him, and I know that _he_ trusts _me_.

And if I did not know that _before_… the spoken memory of Mary Grayson would have just informed me so.

"I… I never saw her _wear_ it," he says softly. "But it always hung on a hanger… a wooden one, on the inside of her wardrobe. And there was a picture… a picture of her…"

His brow creases and he looks at the sheets for a long moment. And then he gets up. He crosses the room and walks out without another word, and before I can stop him.

He's back within the minute, something square and – from where I am sitting – white in his hand. He comes back across the room again and actually gets _onto_ the bed this time, crawling up it to kneel next to where I am sitting.

He offers it to me.

Just as I suspected, it's a photograph. _The_ photograph. I take it and look at it in wonder.

But the wonderment is not just at the beauty of his mother. It's _him_. He suddenly seems so… _different_. Suddenly _eager_ to talk, to tell me all the secrets he has hidden away for so long.

She _is_ beautiful. It's a professional photograph, albeit a small one. The lighting is perfect; and so is she. She's sitting by herself, her hands folded in her lap, on a dark wooden chair of slightly gothic design. The background is one of a Victorian nature; tall wooden bookshelves stacked with beautiful leather-bound volumes, and to the left there is part of a wide sweeping staircase.

She's in the most beautiful dress I have ever seen; I dislike dresses, and yet I would proudly wear this one she wears myself. It's black velvet, tight and form-fitting, with a sweetheart neckline and sweeping velvet across the shoulders. A single rose – crimson velvet – with a glittering diamond set into the middle of it is at the very center of the plunge, and across the cleavage line…

He's right.

It's the same lace.

Or similar, anyway.

I look at her again; and then I look at him. That same jet black hair that I see spiked on _him_ is in this photograph; it sweeps across her forehead and tumbles in a shining mass of midnight waves around her face and shoulders. I see the skin tone and the shape of the face – heart-shaped – on him.

He does not have her mouth.

But somehow he has her smile.

Because he's smiling now – that beautiful, handsome, happy one he rarely wears – and I look at the photograph; and yes—

It's the same smile that _she_ wears.

"You look like her." It's the truth, and I whisper it, gazing intently at him.

His smile deepens; and it's truly sincere. It is maybe the first one hundred per cent genuine smile I have ever seen grace his face. I mean, he smiles when he is happy; and he smiles when he is amused.

But somehow… this is deeper still than even _that_.

"You think so?" His tone is tentative; yet I can hear the delight in it too.

"Yeah…" I look at him; and then I look at her again. "You _really_ look like her…"

I'm not lying.

The pink returns; but this time it's not embarrassment.

"Thankyou…" He leans his head against my shoulder and looks at the photo himself. "She's… I miss her. And dad. I miss them…"

"It's okay…"

I bring up my hand and begin to stroke his jet black; _her_ jet black hair. He reaches for the photograph and I gently give it back to him, watching him first stare at it almost longingly – as though he wishes for her to move from her seat and walk out of it to embrace him – and then press it against his forehead.

Somehow, his encounter with "Slade" those two nights ago seems not only to have opened _new_ wounds; but to have reopened _old_ ones.

Was that _me?_ My intrusion of his body; my entrance of his mind?

Because I saw those things as clearly as he would have seen them all those years ago. I saw Slade. I saw Batman. I saw his vow and his pledge. I saw a circus. And I saw _them_.

I hear a sudden little sniffle from him and look down at him in surprise. He's already fiercely wiping a few hot tears from his face with the heel of his hand. I blink, but say nothing.

"Don't tell anyone…" he says softy, his voice catching.

"About you crying?"

"No…" He sniffs again and looks at me. "About… what you saw in my head. About _them_. Please don't tell anyone. I… they _will_ know. They will, I'll tell them some time, but just… not now…"

He takes a deep breath and puts her photo aside; presumably so that he does not have to look at her anymore.

"It fades in time, but it never goes away," he whispers. "That's what Bruce said to me…"

"Of course not, Robin. They were your _parents_."

He turns into me, resting his head against my collarbone and curling his body against my side.

"Sometimes… I ask myself… why it had to be _them_," he murmurs. "Why _me?_ Why _my_ mom and dad? And when I was younger, right back when it first happened…" He heaves another aching sigh; "…it was so horrible and lonely. Bruce didn't know how to deal with kids, so he generally just left me alone. Used to talk to me sometimes, you know, but he never wanted to play with me, never wanted to go anywhere with me… He got better over time but at first… You know, I ached so much I couldn't even _cry_. I think the first time I cried was about a _month_ after it had happened. Because I was all by myself again and it hurt so much and I just… _cried_. And I used to dream… dream of them falling and screaming, and every time, just like the _real_ time, I just watched them helplessly because I couldn't save them and neither could anyone else… It was like I was always waiting for them to walk into my room and hug me, tell me that there'd been some mistake, they weren't _really_ dead, and it would all be okay because they were going to take me home…"

He shakes a little.

"It didn't happen. It never happened. And I guess after a while I grew to be happy with Bruce, and I'm happy _here_ with you guys, but… it never goes away…"

I just hold him because there is nothing else I can do. I cannot take away that pain; it is too deep within him, too old and too personal. I can only hold him as tightly as I can (without hurting him) and whisper that it is okay; it is okay because I am here, and because I…

Love. It's a strong word.

But I care for him deeply. And I know him now perhaps better than anyone.

If he will sing, then I am the "Phantom" inside his mind. I have seen. I have felt. I have _known_.

And I know now that he cries for many things. He cries for his parents. He cries for the devout obsession – the _cancer_ – that takes him; the hatred for Slade that led us to _this_. His tears are for change; last night he cried as I did, as we lay intertwined after it was over, because things had _changed_. Because our relationship had taken a twist; and because he seemed to realize that he was no longer a child. Teen Titan and Boy Wonder, yes, but no longer a _child_. He may not be a _man_, but that simple encounter of last night seemed to _mature_ him.

As though he suddenly realizes that hiding everything away does not make it any easier.

He turns his head and kisses my collarbone. I lean my head back and he plants a few more tiny little smooches there before pulling back. I arch my back into him, my head against the headboard of the bed, as he sits up and straddles my lap, putting his hands on my shoulders. I can see tears still shining on his face and the smile is gone. He leans in again, kisses the crimson jewel on my ashma chakra, before kissing down my jaw and throat. I place one hand behind his head and hold him there, but he still manages to slip down further to my cleavage.

He starts kissing deeply, and I realize…

…he's not kissing _me_. He's kissing the _lace_.

I allow him to; looking to the side to see his smiling mother. I see that beautiful woman as her equally-beautiful sixteen year old son kisses the black lace of my nightgown, tears on his face.

And then he suddenly stops. Sits up. His eyes are wide and he looks at me briefly before getting off my legs and shifting away along the bed. He stands, starts gathering his clothes from around the room, where he (and I) threw them to the floor the night before.

The studs on his shorts flash in the candlelight as he moves.

"Robin, where are you-?" I am nonplussed, but he cuts me off;

"I can't— I have work to do. I should get started…"

He sounds angry and irritable; but more as though it is directed at _himself_ rather than me.

I do not know what has suddenly gotten into him.

Maybe I do not know him as well as I would like to think.

He starts to walk away, his uniform bundled in his arms.

"Robin!" I snatch up the photograph and hold it out to him.

He doesn't turn. He doesn't look back, even though I know he heard me.

He walks out without another word.

I lean back, perplexed.

He's smart. He's strong. And he's _beautiful_.

And it would also appear that he is as delicate as lace.

* * *

You like? I sure hope so. Everybody seemed to like _Underneath Your Clothes…_

The second half, _Leather_, from Robin's P.O.V, will be up whenever I have finished writing it. You wanna know why he walked out, you're gonna have to come back…

Reviews I love. Constructive criticism I find invaluable. Flames I either laugh or rant at.

If you have _anything_ at all to say, any of the above is fine.

You know what I _don't_ want for this fic? Lectures from morons convinced that _Teen Titans_ Robin is Tim Drake. I am not one to blatantly tell someone that they are wrong, particularly not in an AN. **BUT**… anyone who **STILL** thinks, after **FIVE** seasons of _Teen Titans_, that Robin is Tim Drake is seriously deluded. _Where_ do you people get that from? Most people realize that it is Dick Grayson, but I have come into conflict with a few die-hard Tim fans who _insist_ that _TT_ Robin is Mr. Drake.

_What?_

I am sure that anyone reading this fic will have already caught onto the below evidence; **ONE**: The reference to "Batman" in _Apprentice Pt II_; "I already have a father", followed by a swarm of bats. _Dick_ was Bruce's WARD – _Tim_ was NOT; **TWO**: _Fractured_ – what more proof do you need? Not _only_ is Larry's real name NosyargKcid (clearly DICK GRAYSON backwards), the cartoon version of Robin who appears at the side of the shot in correlation to "Mr. Larry!" is the 60s version of the character. Was Tim Drake around in the 60s? No, sir, he was _not_; **THREE**: Canon romance with Starfire, whether you support the pairing or not (given that this is a RobinxRaven fic). Straight out of _The New Teen Titans_; DickxKory. Ain't gonna be happening between _Tim_ and Star, that's for sure!; **FOUR**: Tim Drake was _never_ leader of the Teen Titans. That honor goes to… you guessed it – Dick; **FIVE**: Hello? Nightwing? _How Long is Forever?_ Did you not _see_ that episode? _DICK_ becomes Nightwing, **NOT** _TIM_!; **SIX**: _Haunted_. Oh, come on… acrobats falling? GRAYSON…

There is more evidence, but I have ranted long enough. I am sure that no-one reading this has that moronic view anyway. But I really _would_ like to know where people got that idea from…

Sooo… anyone who gives me a review saying that I got it wrong because Robin is Tim, not Dick, will get their ass royally kicked…

- RobinRocks xXx


	2. Part II: Leather

First of all… _wow_! 18 reviews! Thanks, guys:)

Now, before we start (and before I start with my long, gushing author notes that everybody – except Utopia, who once complained they were too long – seems to like), I want to clarify something about one of the reviews this has received. If you haven't read it, you simply _have_ to… like, right _now_! It's by a person called **comickdude595** and there is a funny story behind it. That massive rant in the last chapter about Robin being Dick Grayson (and everybody agreed with me!)? It was aimed at comickdude595. Because the review posted isn't a real _review_. It was a PM sent to me in response to _Underneath Your Clothes_. It's the argument that Robin is Tim Drake; unfortunately, comickdude595 is near-illiterate and the message itself is practically unreadable for spelling mistakes, typos and… well, you'd have to read it. It made me laugh, but it also pissed me off that someone could be so goddamn _stupid_. Hence the rant at the end of _Lace_. _Sooo_… I sent the message to AutumnDynasty and she posted it up in an anonymous review in the guise of "comickdude595" so that you all could read it. You'll know which one it is, trust me…

So, to properly get started, and in my usual style, _huge_ thankyou to; **Green Gallant** (NosyargKcid… hehhehheh… gotta love 60s Robin…); **Peace215** (you've read _everything_? Even _Asylum/Black Magic_? Whoa…); **rgfawkes** (there have been three mainstream Robins – Dick Grayson, Jason Todd and Tim Drake. _TT_ Robin, as we have all just argued, is Grayson. As for Frank Miller's _The Dark Knight Returns_… Robin was a _girl_ in that, but it was a weird comic book anyway… just don't go there…); **Immoral Burnings** (you must wait no longer, my friend! _Leather_ is here!); **Ljo** (bring on the leather indeed! And yeah, Robin's gonna be mouthing off about poor Raven…); **Novemberscorpion110388 **(yes, I'm afraid there is more than one Robin…); **Alex** (yeah, I read something like that; that he is written as Grayson, but the designers say that he's Tim, because he has the spiky hair and the bo staff, etc); **Calamol** (afraid Raven wears lace now, my friend…); **Ramza** (yeah, he does resemble the _Batman: TAS_ Tim, I think. But he also kinda resembles the _Batman: TAS_ Dick, at least costumes-wise, _soooo_…);** evilsangel** (there! I've updated!); **FredTheBedHead **(glad you like it, fellow Brit:P); **ravenrogue19 **(don't worry, you didn't offend me in any way…); **NightRobin **(glad you like how I write Robin! Us Robin fans gotta stick together, right?); **comickdude595** (yeah, _thanks_ for the _review_…); **Daybreak25 **(I know there's no escaping you and your praise, my friend. I've just resigned myself to it… ;P); **RobRae5000** (nice to see a self-confessed RobinxRaven fan on the scene! Sorry for making you wait…); **brokensoul0917 **(don't worry, here's the other half…); and last but _certainly_ not least, **Snowyshadowwolf** (I've never figured out how "Dick" comes from "Richard" either… anyone know?).

Wow… that was long… sorry about that…

Lace and Leather

Part II: Leather – _Robin_

There is another photograph.

I don't have very many; maybe around six or seven. Not _enough_… But I have the one of her in that dress.

And I have _this_.

It's pretty old, I guess. It's of her… holding _me_. I'm not quite sure how old I am. Maybe ten months? Perhaps younger than that. The point is that I obviously don't remember this picture being taken.

I remember _it_, though. It used to be in a frame on the wall of our trailer. A green wooden one. I can remember that, just like I can remember what kind of coat-hanger mom's dress used to hang on.

I wasn't allowed to take much after they died. Just some clothes and books. A few photographs. I remember choosing the ones I wanted very carefully. I have since always wished that I had taken more.

Because this all I have.

Seven photographs; and my memories.

The dress. All their show outfits. All my baby things. I wonder what happened to them. Probably all thrown away. Burned.

Dad used to take almost all of the photographs. I only have two with him in.

One with _me_ on his shoulder. And one with _her_ on their wedding day.

But _this_ one doesn't have him in it. It's just me and mom. She's looking at the camera, smiling, her blue eyes shining. She's in a… _floaty_ summer dress, pure white. The baby in her arms… I think I must be younger than ten months. Whatever. I have her shiny black hair and her blue eyes. I think I am smiling too; and pulling on a black wave of hair.

I stare at it a while longer; and then it begins to become too much.

I lock it away before I—

I ache in different places than before. It's not just physical anymore. These past few days have just been so…

…_crazy_. Which is a clichéd term I do not want to use. But I'm afraid that there is no other word _for_ it.

It's her.

_Raven_.

Because it's not okay. It _hasn't_ been since she got into my head. I know she was trying to help; I _know_ she was. She _did_ help, even.

But she saw too much. _Way_ too much. She saw "Slade"… and she saw a whole lot of _other_ things too. She suddenly seems to _know_, to _understand_; perhaps better than I do myself.

Trouble is, maybe I don't _want_ her to.

Raven's got problems of her own. I'm not sure what they _are_, but I know they're big. I know she _has_ to maintain that control.

So I don't want her worrying about _me_; about problems I've had for _eight_ years. Maybe hers are _older_; I don't know. But _my_ pain… is stale. They died a long time ago. And I may have needed pity then – when I was eight – but I don't need or _want_ it now.

It doesn't ever go away. It's still here, and it _hurts_.

But it has numbed considerably. I have learned to live with it because I _have_ to. Bruce learned the same lesson.

That the world doesn't wait for you.

And the kid who still cries himself to sleep eight years down the line…

…has a _lot_ to learn about that.

That life is like leather.

_Tough_.

**TT**

I feel better now that I'm not just sitting on my bed staring at an old photograph.

_Much_ better.

Nothing a can of Coca-Cola and some good music can't cure.

Because now I'm down in the garage, nodding my head to some CD that Cy lent me, shining up my R-cycle with wax (also lent to me by Cy). He just looked over it for me this morning and gave it a few little upgrades; recommended I slick it up before taking it out for a spin.

I'm sure there's a _better_ way of phrasing it. One that doesn't sound so…

…like it's out of _Grease_.

So I'm on my knees on the garage floor, gloves off and that can of ice-cold Coke on the floor next to me, rubbing with a cloth at the red paintwork of the bike. My arm is aching; but it hurts _less_ than most of my other cuts and bruises.

The music is pretty good. A compilation, I think. Seems like there's a bit of everything on there. At the moment it's some hip-hop track. Before that it was some pretty heavy rock.

I'm not really _listening_ to it, and there haven't been any I have recognized.

Some good background noise, though.

I pause and give my arm a rest. Pushing my hair back (I realize that I need a haircut), I take another sip of Coca-Cola and run my gaze over the bike.

Looks pretty sharp. Cy waxes the T-car with the utmost care; sometimes, if he has time, he'll run over my R-cycle too. It's not something I do very often myself, and Cyborg never does as good a job on it as he does on his "baby".

It looks like a new bike. Maybe I should do it a little more often.

In fact, it's so shiny I can see my reflection in it in almost mirror-like detail.

I study it for a while – it's perfect in detail, but _red_ – and then I smile…

"If you wanted a mirror, you could have just asked."

_Raven_.

I start and drop my Coke. Looking at the bike still, I see her reflection materialize behind me now as she emerges from her Soul Self. Irritated, I right the overturned can, mourning the loss of at least half of what was left.

"I have plenty to spare," Raven says, approaching me.

"You have plenty of _what?_" I snap, irked by her presence. "_Coke?_"

"Mirrors."

"Honestly, Raven, you're _so_ funny…" My tone indicates exactly the opposite. "Seriously. Like, _Beast Boy: The Sequel_."

"Robin—" She starts angrily. Then she takes a deep breath and calms herself down again. "Robin, I know you're—"

"You don't _know_ anything, Raven."

"I know a lot more than you would like to believe," she replied coolly.

"So you've been in my mind. Big deal."

I don't look at her… because I know that I am lying. It _is_ a big deal. It's a _very_ big deal. She _knows_. She knows far too much about me, more than I would ever wish to tell her. And yet…

I _did_ tell her, didn't I? This morning. I got all weepy on her and told her and _showed_ her…

…that damned photograph.

The one that I have never shown to anyone else.

Not even _Bruce_.

So what is _happening_ to me? Have I changed so much since… last night? Have I changed because of… _that? _

Or what? Was it _her?_ Did it start _before_ that? When she entered my mind… did she _do_ something to me somehow? Did she read my thoughts so intimately that she knows how I think? Or did she leave a part of herself – or her _Soul_ Self, at least – behind in me, so that she can somehow _control_ me?

I know that Raven cannot feel emotion. Or, at the very least, is not _supposed_ to.

So has she – since entering me – found a way to feel them… through _me?_

I don't feel myself; I don't feel _okay_. Sure, I ache and I smart and I sting in places I didn't even know I _had_, but it's not just that. "Slade" beat me almost to death, true; but this is not the first time I have ever been badly injured. It's not the _physical_ pain that bothers me so.

It's… something else. Something that I cannot explain. I feel different; like all those emotions and feelings and pains of my _own_ that I have repressed in my mind…

…suddenly _refuse_ to stay locked away any longer. I feel like they are all on the verge of spilling forth, and that I won't be able to _stop_ them. Like they are about to _burst_ from my head (like Larry… _bad_ memory…)—

Last night; at the _height_ of it… when something _else_ spilled from me…

That was _easy_. It was nature. I had never done it before and neither had she but it was _easy_ and it was _natural_ and I _knew_, because…

Well.

_Because_.

But the mind… and memories…

Those things aren't quite so _simple_.

All of these theories and scenarios run through my head. I can't _help_ but think in this way; this is how Bruce taught me. I dislike to think of Raven like this, but… something just doesn't add up.

Because Raven…

…scares me.

We don't know what she is. We know little to nothing about her, apart from that she came from a dimension called Azarath.

And I know she's _hiding_ something. Something really _big_. Something really _bad_.

But I don't know _what_.

And _not_ knowing… scares me even more.

"It's no big deal?" Raven repeats incredulously. "Robin, I been inside you in a way that… I do not think I have ever been inside anyone _else_. I have sent my Soul Self into others –_evil_ others – to purge and draw out what _makes_ them evil. I have taken that evil into myself and destroyed it. You have _seen_ me do it. But I have never been inside someone's _mind_. Nobody's… but _yours_."

"So, what, I'm supposed to throw a _parade_ here?" I say sharply; I turn to her, my fists clenched. Not because I wish to hurt her, but because it makes me feel… _safer_.

She's just standing there, her hood up, shadowing most of her face. Her cloak is draped across her body so that I can see nothing of her.

Maybe that makes _her_ feel safer.

"No, but…" She sighs. "You're supposed to _understand_…"

"I do. I _do_ understand. You went into my head. You saw Slade. You made the others believe. You pretty much saved me. We've been through this."

"Then why does it feel as though we _haven't_?"

"Amnesia?"

She looks floored for a moment. Then I see her eyes narrow in the shadow of her hood.

"Don't tell me _you're_ cracking stupid jokes too… what are _you?_ _Beast Boy: Part **Three**_?"

"Something like that."

I try to force myself to smile, and I can't. I can't because the joke wasn't funny and _this_ isn't funny.

I don't _understand_ anything anymore. Last night, on the roof… I felt okay. In pain, yeah, but I really felt like Raven _did_ understand. Then… well, we'll just say I'm not the "innocent" Boy Wonder I was 24 hours ago. But _that_ felt okay, too. It didn't feel awkward or wrong; it felt _right_. Perhaps _more_ right than anything else I've ever felt, because it felt like… she understood. It felt _right_ to shed my clothes and let her see – because I _wanted_ to. I _wanted_ to _show_ her. And it had been mutual. She had done the same for me; opened up to me. _Shown_ me.

There had been understanding and trust. It had felt _right_; maybe because we didn't _allow_ it to feel _wrong_.

And this morning…

I had felt a little awkward to awake in her bed, naked and in her arms. So I had slipped away to the bathroom without waking her; I had only gone back for my clothes. But she had been awake. And while I had felt embarrassment at first at being confronted by her – I had thought she might be angry with me – it had soon faded because I had realized that it was _still_ okay. What we had shared wasn't a sin; we wouldn't be condemned for it, and that there was no reason for any hatred or awkwardness between us.

It had been okay… until the _lace_.

_That's_ when I went over-sentimental on her. That's when I showed her the photograph, when I curled up against her and cried and then started _kissing_ her—

I didn't understand. I didn't know why I was suddenly feeling this way. I suddenly didn't feel in control and that scared me and _she_ scared me and all I wanted to do…

…was get _away_ from her.

So I walked out on her.

And she might understand everything _else_… but I could never expect her to understand _that_.

I've always thought us to be so… _similar_…

Robin and Raven. Raven and Robin. The birds. Like calls like; deep calls to deep; and _dark_ calls to _dark_. I've always trusted her because trusting _her_ is like trusting _myself_. She always seems to understand.

_Seems_ to.

Maybe I saw the truth of her last night. The Raven beneath the hood… just as _she_ saw the Robin beneath the uniform. And at the time – pretty much _delirious_ with what I _suppose_ you would call _desire_ – I thought I _liked_ what I saw. And maybe, in the _physical_ sense, I still _do_.

But she called me beautiful. And I couldn't… _still_ can't… say it back. Because I'm not so sure I _believe_ it. We aren't talking physical appearances here; we're talking what's _underneath_. What's _inside_.

And _I_ am not in any way perfect myself, but… _whatever_ Raven is, it's _not_ _beautiful_.

"Robin, it's okay for you to be scared," Raven says softly. She pulls down her hood, allowing me to see her face. "What we shared was… I know it was your first time. Don't _look_ at me like that—" – I'm perfectly aware of the disgusted, furious expression on my face at such an accusation – "— I know because I felt your sexual purity last night. It has, of course, since left you. Azar, it's hard enough for _me_ to get my head around… But I understand. I understand… it's a big thing. We both lost our virginity and—"

"Raven, I _don't_ wanna hear this!" I interrupt snappily. "I _know_ what we did! _I **know**!_"

You'd think, as a guy, I'd be trilling it for all to hear. And perhaps, in a normal circumstance (and as a guy), I _would_ be. But this is different. I still have that feeling that I wasn't – and am _still_ not – in control. I am certainly not going to start bragging to Beast Boy and Cy about something that freaks me out the way _this_ whole situation does. Solving a case or defeating a villain or winning at Gamestation is something else entirely; I will not be full of myself about something that…

…_terrifies_ me.

_You lost your virginity to **Raven**?_

Yeah. Sure. Go ahead. I wish you the _joy_ of it…

She didn't hurt me. Pressed a little too hard on a few bruises, and she bit my shoulder as she neared her edge; but she didn't _hurt_ me.

I might be less afraid if she _had_.

"Robin…" She steps towards me, her hand outstretched, and I back off sharpish. I can't explain why she suddenly scares me, but she _does_.

Because I've realized that things have _changed_ between us. It's not just the sex… it's not just the fact that we both spent our first ever sexual experience with each other. It's _her_. Because she's _not like_ _me_. I'm a _human_; the son of acrobats. She's… _god only knows_; daughter of _who knows what_…

And I don't judge her on that; just as I don't judge Star for being Tamaranean, or BB for being green, or Cy for being half-robot. I can't _explain_ it… maybe it _is_ the sex.

All I know is that I am really starting to regret last night. Not because I want my _virginity_ back; but because I don't want to feel _this_. I don't want to be _scared_ by her.

Raven withdraws her hand, her eyes narrowed.

"I should have _known_ you'd be like this. Afraid and ashamed of what you've done. And don't look so panicked. You don't have to _propose_ to me or anything."

That's the _least_ of my worries.

"You don't understand…" I turn away from her again. I don't want to look at her.

"_I_ don't understand? I don't understand _what_? _You_?"

"Everything."

"I think I understand this whole situation a lot better than _you_ do, Boy Wonder."

Boy Wonder? Not a title I go by anymore.

"Ah, I suppose you pried _that_ from my mind too?" I shake with hot silent rage. "I suppose you know _Batman's_ _true identity_, then, too?"

"Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Manor, Gotham City."

"Name of his friend and butler?"

"Alfred Pennyworth."

"Names of Bruce's parents?"

"Thomas and Martha Wayne."

"How did they die?"

"Assassinated by a gunman in Crime Alley, East Gotham."

I close my eyes. My fists shake; and I can feel a sudden burning _wrath_ building within me.

"Well, aren't we _fortunate_ to have you on _our_ side…?" My tone is forcefully light; near mocking. "Picking people's minds like that…"

"Robin, I _told_ you that I have _never_—"

"You obviously saw _enough_, at least in _my_ head. Enough to destroy _Bruce_, at least."

Raven seems aghast.

"But you _know_ I would _never_—"

"There are things that you should never know. Things that _no-one_ should ever know. But _you_ know them, don't you, Raven? You've _seen_ them…"

"I didn't _mean_ to," Raven argues. "Robin, I went into you to _save_ you… How can you expect me not to see anything _else_ of what is in your head?"

"I don't want you to go in there ever again."

"I _won't_ as long as I never _need_ to…"

I snap.

"_NO!_" I scream at her, whipping around. "You don't _ever_ come in my mind again! _Ever!_ Just stay _out_; _stay away!_"

She stares back at me, her violet eyes wide with shock at my sudden angry outburst.

"You know things that you _shouldn't_!" I continue to rant at her. "You've seen things that I… that still _hurt _me… things that still _haunt_ me… It feels like you've _stolen_ some part of me, some part that I can't ever have back; and it's not virginity we're talking about here. It's something that no-one was ever supposed to have; to know or to take from me…"

"I don't understand what you're saying," Raven says softly, her voice sad and confused.

"No," I reply coldly. "No, you _don't_ understand, Raven…"

She stares at me for the longest time.

"Robin, why won't you let anyone _help_ you?" She finally asks of me. "Why won't you let anyone _in_?"

"I _did_ let you in," I reply moodily. "I _did_, and I don't want to let you in again. Oh, god, Raven… it's screwing me up so _bad_…" I press my palms against my forehead – because it really _does_ feel like my skull is about to burst open. "Raven… what have you _done_ to me? You've… I don't feel in _control_ when I'm around you… It's like you're somehow… _manipulating_ me…"

I look up; and I see tears in her eyes.

"How can you think that I would _ever_ control you?" She whispers, silent tears running down her pale face.

"Because I…" I trail off and sigh. "Look, I _don't_, okay? But that's how it _feels_… Like there's some part of you in me… Like that darkness that surrounds you is _in_ me… like… like it's trying to _suffocate_ me…"

She looks frightened for a moment; genuinely concerned. And then her face hardens again.

"You're such a _coward_," she accuses. "If you regret what we shared last night, then just _say_ so. We don't have to start _dating_ because of it…"

"Do _you_ regret it?"

She looks away for a moment or two.

"When I was younger, and far more naïve, I used to want my first time to be with someone I loved deeply and truly. I always said I wasn't going to rush into anything; that it wouldn't be a first-date thing. And when I realized that love was an emotion I could not _feel_, I said that it would be someone I cared for, and who cared for _me_. That is true between us; am I right?"

I nod.

"And yeah, we… there _was_ no first date. There was no dating, no kissing, no stolen glances… there was _nothing_ between us, Robin. Nothing but a bond – a bridge that has been formed between us. I have been in your mind, tread through your memories and seen through your eyes. I think that means _more_ than any old cinema date; and I do not regret last night because, to _me_ at least, it felt _right_. That bond _made_ it special and beautiful."

I open my mouth, but can't make a sound. So I close it again and shake my head to clear it. And then I sit down on the leather seat of the bike behind me, absently rubbing at a bruise on my arm.

My _brain_ hurts more than the bruise.

"You know that it can't go on," I say finally. "Nothing can come from it. You _know_ that… right?"

She looks at me, then at the floor, and then at the ceiling.

"Yes."

"Because it's not… that I don't _like_ you… but…"

"I know. It just can't happen. _Nothing_ can happen. However… I can't help but think… if that's because _you_ won't _allow_ it…"

"Don't do this, Raven. You know why it can't happen. There's the team to think about, and… and you…"

…_You scare me_…

"I'm not ideal girlfriend material. I know. That honor goes to Starfire."

"It's not because of _Starfire_, Raven…"

She shrugs.

"Maybe not…"

We both fall silent. I had forgotten that the music was still playing, but it suddenly makes itself heard again, and I nod my head along to it for lack of anything else to do with myself. This is quite possibly _the_ most awkward situation I have ever had the misfortune to be subjected to.

It's another song I don't recognize; the lyrics seem to be about girls in chains and leather straps…

I begin to wonder where Cy actually _got_ this CD _from_…

Raven wrinkles her nose in disgust as she listens to it; I can't help but grin at her reaction.

"It's Cyborg's," is all the explanation needed on my part. She nods in understanding and uses her telekinesis to skip to the next track.

Heavy metal. She doesn't seem impressed, but says and does nothing.

Finally my discomfort becomes too much and I stand. I can't bear to sit here with her any longer.

"I should get back to work," I mutter, passing her. "See you later…"

I'll leave the cloth and the wax and my Coke and the CD player down here; and I'll come back and finish the wax job when she's safely gone.

My hopes were _very_ high when I expected to just be able to walk past her. She catches my arm (and I suppress a hiss of pain as her fingers dig into a large indigo bruise hidden by my sleeve) and whips me around.

"_Don't walk out on me again_," she hisses angrily.

"Would you rather I threw down a few smoke bombs and _sneaked_ out while you were coughing and blinded?"

She doesn't respond to my retort.

"Don't walk away," she whispers desperately. "Don't walk away from _me_. From _this_…"

"We _have_ to walk away from it, Raven. For _both_ of us."

"You're afraid."

I feel my stomach twist unpleasantly.

"Of commitment?" I reply, my voice strangled. "What makes you-?"

"You're afraid of _me_."

"_You_?"

"_Me_. You're afraid of what I am. Of what we have done."

It's everything I've been thinking; and I get a sudden suspicion and the _rage_ builds again—

"_GET OUT OF MY HEAD_!" I scream at her.

"I'm not _in_ your head," she replies, her voice juxtaposingly calm in comparison to mine. "I know that you fear me _because_ I know that there is good _reason_ for you to. You do not understand _now_, but… Let's just say there's going to come a time where you're gonna wish you'd never _met_ me…"

"Raven…" This sudden and strange confession from her douses my rage and I can only stare at her. "What are you-?"

"For now, it doesn't matter," she interrupts, putting her fingers to my mouth to silence me. "You _will_ know, and soon enough… But at this time just know that I do not blame you for fearing me…"

Our mouths meet; but it's a kiss that barely lasts. We break apart with a sudden gasp, even though there is no reason for us to be in any way out of breath – our lips barely touched.

"And just know," she continues in a whisper, "that when I said that last night was beautiful and special… I _meant_ it. You may regret it, Robin, and you may hate me for it, but _I_ do not hate _you_, nor do _I_ regret it; I can only _thank_ you for it."

I pull away from her – her hands clutch my wrists, although I have only just noticed – and back away.

"Emotional blackmail doesn't work on me," I inform her icily. I wipe my mouth on my wrist even though there is no reason for me to, and then I turn away again.

"Raven, you're one of my best friends, and I care about you and I respect you. And believe me when I say that I will always be here for you, and will always _help_ you no matter what. But…"

I look back over my shoulder at her.

"…I can't love you. I'm sorry, but I can't. And I'm sorry if that angers you, or if it upsets you; but I won't pretend and hurt you even _more_ with lies. _I just can't love you_. Please, care for and respect _me_ enough to understand that."

I close my eyes and sigh.

"Because… because it _can't_ work. You know that, and I know that. It can't work because… we're too _similar_, and yet, we're vastly _different_… I can't bring myself to hurt you any more than I already have…"

"Robin, you haven't—"

But I don't listen to her any longer. I turn my back on her and walk out on her again…

…because it's the only thing I _can_ do.

It's the only thing that, during the past few days, has made any _sense_.

Any sense at all.

**TT**

_It has begun._

_Neither of them knows how it has gotten to this; from simple meditation to kissing to—_

_He lies back on the sheets, propped up on his elbows. She leans over him and they kiss for yet another time; they have lost count. It doesn't matter because it all just feels so **right**…_

_He admires her plain beauty as she withdraws. Nothing elaborate; and yet she is exquisite. Large dark amethyst eyes, icy-pale skin, the glittering jewel on her forehead, and the perfectly straight violet hair, framing her face perfectly. There are no pretences about her; nothing (at the moment) hidden in those eyes._

_They kiss again. She tastes a little blood and realizes that she has disturbed his split lip from his brutal beating the night before. She licks his mouth clean, not because she likes the taste of blood, but because it is his and she cannot bear to see his beauty spoiled further. She kisses the bruise at his jaw, and she kisses the brow bone over his right eye where the swelling begins. She kisses his hair and his forehead and the tip of his nose and his mouth and his chin—_

_He exhales heavily and lies back and holds her to him._

_Her hands slip down over his chest to his waist and she begins to loosen his belt. He stifles a moan of anticipation and draws one leg up against her; his crotch presses against her leg and he squirms as her hands reach his face again. She strokes the side of his face and they kiss again. He moves his head with it and she grips his jet black hair. Her other hand returns to his waist and the belt is unbuckled and wriggled from beneath him._

_She can sense his purity; and his excitement. He has never been satisfied in this way before and longs for her. She feels him arch slightly underneath her even as she only removes his belt…_

_It begins this way; and ends on the same trusting, enthralled note. They are spellbound by one another and hold each other close, intertwined as closely as possible, still faintly kissing and touching, long after it is over._

_They sleep that way._

_The sun rises; and with it so do the problems._

_The differences. The embarrassment. The anger. The awkwardness. The fear; the denial; and the muttered, half-formed explanations for their behavior._

_They cannot stay naked, warm and intertwined beneath her sheets forever._

_The questions come; but are absent of answers._

_Indeed, the only thing that seems to make **sense**; to make it all go away; to enable them to pretend that it didn't happen and that nothing has changed; that **they** haven't changed…_

…_is to goddamn walk away._

**TT**

I shut my bedroom door behind me and lock it.

Since walking out on Raven in the garage I have taken out my rage and confusion and misery on a defenseless sparring dummy; and I have taken a long hot shower.

I throw my towel and sweaty uniform on the floor, already dressed in a clean one, and flop onto the bed. I let my eyes slide closed and put my arm over my face. I need to _think_…

Then I squirm as I feel something sharp suddenly poking me in the back. Irritated, I roll over and pull whatever it is out.

It's something small and rectangular, wrapped in black tissue paper and tied with a purple velvet ribbon. I would think such a thing to be from Starfire if I didn't know that Starfire dislikes using black for anything. If this were from Star, the tissue paper would be _pink_.

So the only other logical candidate is therefore…

_Raven_.

Unless Cy and BB re suddenly wrapping things up in purple ribbon (Note to self: Be afraid, be _very_ afraid…).

I untie the ribbon carefully and peel back the layers of ebony tissue—

It's not much of a present, being mine in the first place. But my heart skips a beat even so, because…

It's mom's picture. Raven has put it in a frame for me.

But not just _any_ frame. It looks like one she's made herself. Black wood at the back, but decorating the front around the picture is dark leather. She's burned gothic patterns and runes and Azarathian-looking symbols into the surface of the leather, with an incense stick, looks like.

And around the edge of the leather is… _the lace_. She must have cut it off her nightgown.

I smile at what must be one of the nicest and most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for me.

I turn it over and find a little note taped to the wood at the back. I recognize Raven's neat, elaborate writing immediately;

_It's okay to be different. Sometimes the contrast is more beautiful than two things that are alike._

I turn the picture over again and suddenly I realize what she means.

Lace and leather. Two things that shouldn't go together (unless you're watching something X-rated); because one is so delicate and elaborate, while the other is plain, tough and as-it-comes. Lace is created by hand, while leather is simply… well, Beast Boy has already lectured us on it. I won't go into it. None of us could eat burgers for a week, which I think is what Beast Boy was hoping for…

Whatever. I know what she means, and that's what matters.

We have a lot in common, Raven and I; we really do. And yet I think that our biggest similarity is the mutual knowledge that we are _different_ too. It was something I could not understand, mainly because I thought she was wrong; but I _do_ now because I know that she was _right_.

And as Raven has been known to say; anger solves nothing.

And even if it seems to make sense, neither does walking away.

Because I didn't walk away from what we have _shared_; I simply walked away from _her_ in an effort to ignore it. And I know – and knew even _then_, the both times I swung the door shut behind me - that forced ignorance won't make it go away.

The events of last night happened because I was afraid (of _him_). Because I was afraid, and because Raven tried to take my mind off that fear by offering something else in its place. She helped me, and came out of herself to do so.

The bond. She may now know me intimately, both because of entering my mind and the _other_ thing. But it would be naïve of to think _I_ have learnt nothing of _her_. Her earlier confession in the garage still confuses and worries me, but I understand it to be, at least, Raven's own plea for help.

Like I said, Raven's got problems of her _own_.

And we _will_ help her. Not just me; but the others too. Star and Cy and BB.

We'll be ready and it'll be _okay_.

I can't _love_ her; but I can _save_ her – and I _will_ – no matter what it takes.

I take another vow; another pledge…

I guess I _owe_ her that much.

Because, in the end, _hope_ and promise are the only things that matter.

* * *

I am sorry if that was not _quite_ the ending you were hoping for… They didn't kiss and make up. They didn't make out in a closet. They didn't pledge their love to each other or decide to "make a go of it". And yeah, it was pretty much the same ending line as Raven's in _Underneath Your Clothes_. But that was what I wanted; and I exchanged "love" for "hope"… because that's _all_ Robin mouths off about in _The End Part III_.

However… does anyone want to go for a _third_ fic? Anyone at all? A third part would mean _more_ RobinxRaven… Well, if just _one_ person says "Yes please!" to the prospect of a third (and final, I promise) part to what has become the _Underneath Your Clothes _saga, I will be happy to write it. Yes, I have deliberately left this open for such. My plan? A continuation of this bond, moving forward to Season Four and _Birthmark_… yes, that episode where Robin actually _says_ that there's a bond… It would be another two-parter, one chapter from Raven's P.O.V and the other from Robin's (unless you don't think I did a very good job of Robin, in which case we'll just stick to Raven).

There may or may not be some _proper_ RobinxRaven action… I haven't decided…

Now, before you all slope off… Do me a favor. All RobinxRaven fans (and I should _hope_ that you're RobinxRaven fans if you're reading _this_…); read a fic called _Blue_. It. Is. _Stunning_. It's got ten chapters (all quite a bit shorter than _this_) and is by a writer called GDeacur. Both she and the fic are on my Favorites lists. Without giving too much away, it's about Robin getting a terminal illness that slowly turns his skin blue; it's like a visible calendar of how long he has left. There is a lot of closeness between Robin and Raven, as she is the only one who knows that he is dying, and I suppose it certainly _borders_ on RobinxRaven. There is also a _brilliant_ twist at the end. Now, I wouldn't plug it like this, but… it only got 33 reviews. Now for a piece with _ten_ chapters – and for a piece of that _quality_ – that is terrible. It now has 35, actually, because I have given reviews for the first two chapters and am going to review the other eight when I next have a free in school. Because I've read the whole thing and just… _wow_. Really. It's so different and poignant and GDeacur handles the theme of inevitable death (and Robin's reaction) really well. Plus each chapter has a little poem at the bottom…

So that's _Blue_ by GDeacur. You can find the story on my Favorite Stories list. Read it; it's fantastic and you won't regret it, I promise.

Oh… and _review_ it! Let's get that review count _way_ up there! Revolution!

Anyone who wants a third "sequel", let me know!

Ta-ta, _daaaarlings_!

- RobinRocks xXx


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